


Knight to King's Pawn

by NeoVenus22



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: F/M, Incest, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:46:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Susan straddles the line between two homes, between past and future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knight to King's Pawn

Susan is not at all surprised to catch Caspian creeping into her chamber in the dead of night, which is why she doesn't refuse him entrance. "This is hardly proper," she informs him, with a slightly teasing note to her voice that she isn't quite sure he'll catch (Peter would).

"You Narnians are always so consumed with propriety."

"And the Telmarines aren't?" She sits up in bed, neither denying nor granting him access, although he hasn't asked.

"It's a new regime," he says. "Tossing out the ways of the old. Harmony between Telmarines and Narnians, as it was meant to be." He grins at her, candlelight flickering across his face. "Surely you can't refuse a harmonious joining."

"So this is business rather than pleasure," she answers.

"It can be both." The grin deepens, his eyes darken, and Susan is suddenly acutely aware of every nerve in her body. "If you'd like."

"Well. When you put it so... diplomatically."

Caspian sheds his loose nightclothes and joins her in the bed. Susan buzzes with anticipation, the giddy memory of what it's like to be touched, the all-consuming curiosity of wondering what it's like to be touched by Caspian. The light from her bedside lamp caresses his chest and stomach and thighs, but she can't quite bring herself to look at anything in between. It doesn't matter; his mouth lands on hers, fingers deftly undoing the loose braid she'd thrown together, wrapping strands around his fingers and pulling her closer, as if trying to swallow her whole. Susan can hardly breathe. She certainly doesn't mind.

Caspian's lips trace the line of her jaw to her neck, his hands palming her breasts through her gown. Peter's face dances in her mind for only a second, a fleeting memory of the only other man to touch her this way, so long ago, when she was younger and older all at once. She wonders how long they'll be in Narnia this time, maybe decades more, decades more of Caspian's mouth on her skin. It occurs to her that this is her second time losing her virginity, if such a thing were possible, but it is, because it's happening. Because while she remembers the first time, and the way Peter fumbled, because it was his first time, too, her body recalls nothing. Caspian doesn't fumble. She wonders if she should feel jealous about this, but she can't even manage nervousness, so anything beyond that seems unlikely. She spends too much time thinking about technicalities.

"You are very beautiful," Caspian murmurs, sliding her dress down her shoulders. "And an impressive warrior. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a Telmarine."

"I think the time for politics is over," she says, bringing his mouth back up to hers. She'd rather it be elsewhere, but elsewhere also provides ample opportunity for him to talk and ruin the ambiance. Kissing as a means of shutting one up was a strategy she often employed with Peter.

Kissing Caspian, which she does, with relish, and with her eyes open, does the trick for banishing Peter from her mind. He loses his balance and falls on top of her, pressing her into the bed. He is solid and warm, his tongue moving past her lips to tease her own, and she winds her fingers through his mop of hair, trying to pull him closer. Caspian's fingers trail over her breasts, and Susan burns for the lazy dance of his fingers, wanting him more than she has ever wanted anything, she thinks. She doesn't even desire going home anymore (although that is an urge fading with every day); she'll stay in Narnia forever if Caspian keeps touching her.

Susan tries to focus and drink in every second, cataloging each detail for her memory in the hopes that these will not blur, as well, but his tongue on her nipple, his thumbs digging into her thighs, his touch everywhere, it all happens too quickly, and yet too slowly, and her vision goes white and her memory blanks out. She registers nothing except the exquisite sensation leaving her boneless and gasping into his skin.

"I hope that is not the extent of your repertoire," she teases, albeit a bit breathlessly.

"Surely it sufficed." He smirks with the smugness of knowing the truth.

"You're not a King yet, Caspian," she says. She's surprised by her daring, but then, she doesn't feel like herself. She feels more and more these days like Queen Susan, like a regal bold and respected.

Caspian laughs. "As my queen wishes," he said, and for a moment, she is no longer capable of taking in air.

Susan loves the way their flesh presses together, the way they rub against each other. She tightens her legs around his waist to join them further. Caspian groans unintelligibly. This is an act lacking the grace and dignity expected of people of their station, but that's what makes it all the better. He collapses next to her in a sticky heap, arm tangled through blankets as it spreads limply across her stomach. He grins at her from behind loose, sweaty strands of hair. "And your thoughts?"

"A true king wouldn't be so desperate for approval," she says loftily. Peter flits through her mind, the thought as reckless as Peter himself is. "How can you expect the Narnians to follow the lead of someone so... uncertain?"

"Oh, I am quite certain in this scenario," he says, grabbing her hip with a smirk. Susan giggles at his touch. "In any case, a true king weighs the opinions of those around him. I am hardly a dictator. I'm interested in the satisfaction of my subjects."

"Consider yourself successful, then."

"I was hoping for more lavish praise."

Sons of Adam, she thinks idly, are all essentially the same. They want pats on the head and candies for a job well done. "I'll have it carved into stone in the morning," she teases, and is rewarded for her sarcastic praise by Caspian burrowing into her side.

"Excellent. A very lovely message will be sent to the people of Narnia and Telmar."

"A message that says their king can't keep his hands to himself."

"Oh, and who would want that?" says Caspian, fingers fluttering over her skin. "Certainly not you."

The candle flickers at her side and she thinks that he is right.

* * *

Susan doesn't _think_. The thought never crosses her mind, for at least a second, that people will _see_ her and Caspian leaving her room together in the morning. This sort of logic is usually her gift, but beyond that, what she doesn't realize, is that anyone with eyes can take one look at Susan's glowing cheeks and Caspian's moony expression and figure out the truth easily enough. Peter would. Peter does. Peter has the added benefit of seeing the two of them leaving Susan's room together, and what would have been a niggling notion becomes something far more vast and solid.

Peter is nasty at breakfast, petulant and picking fights with even Ed and Lu. He makes ghastly faces into his traditional Telmar breakfast. Susan has no choice but to confront him afterward, for the sake of maintaining the tentative alliance Peter seems to have forgotten all about.

"Mind your manners, Peter," she scolds in a dark, unfamiliar hallway.

"Mind yours," says Peter sharply.

Susan huffs. "You're behaving like a child."

"Oh, well, I'm terribly sorry that we can't all be so much _older_, like Caspian."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Perhaps it's escaped your attention that your precious prince is so much older than you."

"You're older than me," she says without thinking. It's a morning devoid of thought, and she wishes she could say it was Caspian distracting her now.

"And how dare you lecture me on propriety when you can't manage it yourself?" continues Peter, on a roll. "Prancing about the hallways and letting bloody everyone know what you're up to with Caspian?"

"I am not 'up to anything' with Caspian," she says in a low hiss, defending her honor because it seems very unlikely that Peter will get around to that particular duty in the near future.

"You're not much of a liar, either, Su." Peter stares her down, and the longer she holds his gaze, the weaker she can feel both herself and her resolve becoming, yet she cannot manage to look away. "I know you much better than you think. And I know you've been harboring a schoolgirl crush on him ever since he came into your sights, and I know that you happen to be rubbish at self-restraint."

"You're one to talk." She hadn't been the one slipping into bedchambers in the dead of night.

"This is different," he said. "You know it is. Caspian, he's not one of us."

"Oh, that's a fine sentiment for a king."

"I mean he was born here, and he will stay here. How long do you think we'll stay this time? Summoned by magic to help, and now that the crisis is over, the magic can't be expected to keep us here because it's so very nice." Peter frowns, then takes Susan's hands in a warm, tight grasp. "Su, when we go back, we're going to be the same as we are now. Don't you remember what happened last time? It's been thousands of years. You'll go back to England and still be a schoolgirl, and he'll grow old and die."

Deep down, Susan knows he's right. She adores Caspian, hopes for more nights with him, but she's the rational one, the one who has one foot in Narnia and the other in England. She cannot forge a relationship with a boy (a man) that she might never see again. (She will always see Peter. Whether she wants to or not.)

And that was the peril of a queen: choosing between what was good for the monarch and good for the monarchy. The love she can't have, and the one she shouldn't.

When Caspian returns to her chamber that night, her body tightens with anticipation, skin dancing with the memory of his touch. She turns him away and falls to rest with only her torturous thoughts.


End file.
